The Connotations Of Red
by Ianto'sCoffeeMinion
Summary: Moriaty is back. For John. Whilst Sherlock is down at Scotland Yard, telling the OBVIOUS, Moriarty kidnaps John and keeps him in plain site. Sherlock has to battle his oh-so-tedious emotions that are threatening to resurface in order to get John back. Progresses into JOHNLOCK.
1. Chapter 1

**The Connotations Of Red:**

******Set after A Scandel In Balgravia, and before The Reichenbach Fall.**

**_Moriaty is back. For John._**

Sherlock practically jumped out of the cab when he reached 221B Baker Street. He threw the money at the cabbie, getting an 'Oi!' in return, which he didn't take notice of. He had just returned from Scotland Yard telling Greg –Lestrade- Or whatever he calls himself about the painfully_ obvious_ scenario of how the maid had killed the owner of the house because she was deeply in love with the mistress's son and they had planned to run away together, with mummy's money. Sentiment. No wonder they were caught; Sherlock snorted at the emotion. _Sentiment is found in the losing side_.

He made his way through the door, up the stairs; taking two at the time as usual. Excitement and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he wanted to share his analysis with John because John always _listened_. Told him it was_ amazing_, or _bloody brilliant, _or any synonym or adjective that popped into his barely used brain at that time.

"JOHN! I was right, it WAS the maid…obviously…I told you, but oh no you didn't think she had it in her. Well your hypothesis was not all incorrect, the maid did have a hand in the killing, she wanted that old crone dead as much as Henry…our killer!, but chivalry is not dead…if that's the right phrase. Phrases, John. I don't see the point in them, why not explain your intentions outright instead of dressing them up and putting them into code. The human brain, well, that's probably the only code-breaking that the average puny little brain can cope with. Stupid really. All those brain cells, so active like electric to your nerve endings, so fascinating, yet underused." Sherlock babbled as always, he'd say he never did such a thing but John begged to differ. He was traipsing through the flat, pushing every door open to locate John and having no luck at all.

"Probably out with Sarah, no, not Sarah, the new one….Meredith? Maria? Mmmmmmm…the one that snorts when she laughs. Odious…oh! That's it! Muriel! What a horrible name"

Sherlock could hardly keep up with John's conquests. They all had such _boring_ names. Maybe John actively seeked the dull ones, their names were a dead giveaway as well as their desperation to agree to a relationship so quickly after meeting said man. They were probably single for quite a while, hence their promptness in agreeing, it was annoying. Obviously this meant that there was a _reason _why they were not being dated, but John would never deduce this, he would just blame it on him being lucky. Luck. No such thing.

Sherlock finally gave up and slumped into the arm chair nearest to him. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his curls. He was tired, but sleep was the enemy. He needed to be awake for when John reappeared so he could go through the case, he was planning to write an entry in his blog about it. Sherlock pulled out his phone and text him.

'Come home when appropriate –SH'

'By appropriate, I mean when she's boring you to death, which is every time she opens her mouth. Better just come home now. That seems the logical thing to do –SH'

He still had no reply. Ten minutes later he decided to bombard John with texts until her replied; he knew that really annoyed him.

'It's urgent –SH'

'Say I've been taken into hospital after a collision with a car. I'll phone you if you would like, pretending to be from the hospital's reception- SH'

'For god's sake John, answer your phone –SH' .

"Right that's it!" Sherlock exclaimed before selecting the 'call' button.

It rang for a long time, causing him to curse John in every language he knew, but then finally someone answered. Someone who wasn't John.

"Oh, hi! Its Jim here, how are you? Still worried about your flatmate. Ohhh but when I say flatmate there's also something else there…can't quite put my finger on it, but I will. When I engage the bomb he's currently wearing. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that bit, didn't I? Oh well, you probably would have worked it out when it was too late, shame on you." Moriaty said in his most uplifting tone.

"Let him go" Sherlock all but snarled in reply, "Oh I don't think so…what would be the fun in that?",

"Put John on",

"Sorry, John can't come to the phone right now…if you leave a message, I'll be sure not to pass it on" Moriaty jested in an answer phone impression.

"Put. Him. On."

Sherlock pronunciated every word, getting annoyed at his enemy's attempts at not co-operating, "Ooooh! Someone's getting worked up! Tell me, is it because you and John are…how should I put this? _Engaged_ with each other? What's it like to finally give-in to normal human instinct. Must be so frustrating. Every touch, every look, every syllable. Seem's like you have sentiment after all. Stupid really, that's weakness right there. I could put an end to it…by it I mean John, then you wouldn't have to worry that pretty little head anymore…whaddaya say?".

"You know how I detest repeating myself."

"So that's a no? _really_? Don't wanna phone a friend? Oh yeah, I have your only friend, and you are phoning him. Do you do that often? Of course you do. You love to show off…a lot like me really"

"I'm NOTHING like you."

"I beg to differ, and so does John here…don't you John?"

"Put him on! NOW!"

"Tut tut, patience my dear. You see…I would, but John's a little unconscious right now. Well…when I say little. He's currently having dreams of tea and jam, or you, or maybe both, ill be sure to ask him when he wakes._ If_ he wakes."

"What have you done to him?"

"Oh nothing major, just a few broken ribs, soft tissue damage, a coupla bruises here and there, mostly on the side of his head. Sorry about that, needed to get him…ruffled"

"What do you want?"

"Well, see that's the wrong question, I could retort with a million different answers about new designer suits, oh! Shoes! Gotta love the shoes…or I could tell you of how I would love to skin you alive. Be more specific Sherlock. Your deteriorating all the time you are living with this leech."

"Okay, I'll rephrase that for you. What do you want from me in return for John's freedom?"

"You"

"Finally! We're getting somewhere. Give me a time and place and I'll be there"

"Now, that would be too easy wouldn't it? I know what going through your mind now…Am I touching John? Am I hurting him? What am I going to do to him next?. I'm sure your vivid imagination has come up with numerous scenarios. The power of the imagination is the scariest tool."

Sherlock sighed. He squeezed his eyes shut. Moriaty was right, he was imagining John lying comatose on the floor beside him, Moriaty running his hands through John's hair, over his jumper as he spoke to him on the phone. He could see John, all battered and bruised, coughing blood and looking so damn scared it _hurt_. But he was not supposed to _feel _emotion, he locked it up in his mind palace and threw away the key long ago…but it seems as if it's escaping. Somehow. Oozing out of the locked door like the evils from Pandora's box. He was crumbling, he could tell. He was uses pointless, human phrases and his mind was running wild. His control was slipping. All for John.

"Ju-just stop. _Please_. Tell me where you are and we can talk. I'll do whatever you want, just _please_ don't hurt him"

"Is that the sound of the great Sherlock Holmes,_ begging_." Moriaty laughed.

"Yes, it is, you've had your fun, you've made me beg, just tell me where you are…I want a location."

"My, my, how the mighty have fallen"

"Location" Sherlock forced out through gritted teeth.

"Go to your window. Look across the street. Do you see the window with the red curtains."

"Yes"

"I've been here alllllll along, right in front of your eyes, and not once have you questioned it. Your getting slow Sherlock"

"Oh, why didn't it see that before! That is so OBVIOUS! The window is clearly _visible_ from any line of sight looking from this perspective. I should have seen this. Why didn't I see this!? How utterly STUPID!" Sherlock growled letting out all that pent up rage.

"Come and get meeeeeee!" Moriaty sang before dropping the line.

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	2. Chapter 2: The Most Sincere Form

**Chapter 2:** _**Mutilation is the most sincere form of flattery.**_

Sherlock rushed down the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Hudsons questions as he all but ripped the door from its hinges to get out quickly. As he reached the door to the room which he calculated had the red curtains, Sherlock took a deep breath and put his hand on the door. John was in there. His _friend_. His _only_ friend. Moriarty knew him all too well and using John against him would be his biggest downfall.

"Sentiment" Sherlock tutted.

As Sherlock opened the door he could see John, strapped to a chair and a bomb. He was unconscious and the bruises were starting to show. His head was bowed in sleeplessness and his eyes moving erratically beneath their lids. He would be waking soon.

"Ah, Sherlock. So glad you could make it…I would say take a seat, but I have no furniture." Moriarty chimed.

"Enough of the small talk. It is utterly pointless and honestly a waste of our time. How's John?" Sherlock said, his lip curling, fist clenching, trying so desperately to get a hold of his emotions.

"You brought rage I see, annnnnndddd, something else, Fondness? Lust?...all for John? Or am I the lucky man?"

"Stop playing games and get to the point!"

"Oh, but I love games. Games are fun. Games predict if Johnny-boy here lives…or dies."

"What are you insinuating?"

"You mean you can't deduce that from me? John here said you were good. I don't see how"

Sherlock turned to look at John, really look at him. He has so much faith in Sherlock it was astounding. He didn't know why. That perplexed him more than anything had before. Did he really have so much faith in him, getting him out of this debacle alive?

"I see you've brought your emotions to the occasion. That was a really stupid move."

"Maybe. Maybe not, but I tell you what is _stupid_. The fact that you're here alone."

"Oh, but that's not true, I have Johnny here to keep me company. To make me feel at home" Moriarty said with voice like silk, walking over towards John and trailing his fingers gently down his hair, but then violently grabbing his by the scruff of his neck.

"This! This piss poor excuse for a human is what you value the most? Above even your own brother…_oh_ don't look at me like that…_I know_ about Mycroft. How could I not, we have similar interests….you."

"Let him go" Sherlock snarled, someone touching John like that really riled him up.

"Ohh not yet, I'm not done with him yet…" Moriarty emphasised this by letting John go from his grip and smoothing his hair and collar down. He continued to stroke John's hair, much like a pet. Sherlock was quiet. Too quiet for him. The minute he looked down at John with disgust, Sherlock had moved closer.

"Uh, uh, uh. Stay back." He pulled something from his pocket, a keyring.

"What is it with you and explosives? Isn't this a little repetitive?"

"Don't know the power of explosives Sherlock, they are very effective, and so very dramatic…it suits our little quarrel here very well. Guns and knives are just tools, they can be_ taken _too easily, one slip and your opponent had the power, but explosives, they make you really _think_." He brought the key ring up into the light so Sherlock could inspect it. There was a button on top. It was red.

"Nice touch. The red."

"Ohhh, you know me. Master of detail…and death. Maybe the other way round"

"Quit being so trivial with your stereotypes and get on with it. You bore me."

"You _really _shouldn't have said that" Moriarty raised the key ring for effect and Sherlock could see what was coming. He was going to push the button. He was going to blow John up.

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	3. Chapter 3: Ka-Boom

**Chapter 3: ****_Ka-Boom_**

"WAIT! Wait. If you press that button we all go up. Now just John" Sherlock shouted, holding his hands up in front of him and edging forward.

"I'm not incompetent. I do know."

"Just think about this, surely there's an easier way to do this…without this much collateral. A version where you don't die"

"Dying doesn't bother me Sherlock, everyone dies. It how we go out. What does bother me is knowing my enemy will get away. As long as this is carried out, I will be at peace."

"Why do you hate me so much. I don't even know you!"

"That's were your wrong" Moriarty smirked. He went to press the button for a second time, but Sherlock knew he'd draw it out, he was dramatic after all. That's when he lunged. Sherlock lunged at Moriarty, holding his arm down and prying the key ring from his hands…it was all too easy.

John was waking now, groaning at his pounding head and realising he couldn't move his arms. Right, I'm still here. He looked up, eyes adjusting to the light to see Sherlock and his capturer in a scuffle. He smiled, Sherlock had come for him. It all happened too quickly, one minute they were on the floor, tumbling and grunting, punching and kicking, and then there was gun to his head and everything stopped.

"I can still blow him up you know…this device has heat sensors, you know what that means, don't you? That means, the second he has no pulse, the second he goes cold, or tried to get the jacket off. BOOM!" Moriarty signalled an explosion with his hands, gun still aimed at John's head.

"Lower the gun"

"Hand me the trigger device."

"The gun"

"The device"

"The gun" Sherlock spat.

"What makes you think you have the upper hand here? Is it the button? Well, I hate to break it to you, but all It does is make the good doctor here go boom, and that was my end result anyway. I fail to see exactly how you're in control"

"You, always the narcissist. You love being in control, of life, and death. There is a way to stop the bomb. Its obvious, encase this didn't turn out exactly as you planned. Of course you thought it would end in your favour, you planned it to end in your favour, but what you didn't plan for is me tackling you for this device. You thought I wouldn't have the guts. Too much at stake by one little move"

"There isn't, your wrong"

"No, I'm right, you wanna know how?"

"Enlighten me"

"What you failed to put into consideration is that John was in the army."

"So?"

"So, he dealt with bombs, he knows them quite well, do you really think he wouldn't know if something was no right, something that is not typically on a bomb, an extra switch, per say. An off button. No doubt you've actually marked it as such"

"Go on then, try it, see where it gets you" Moriaty smirked.

"This is all an act, I can see right through you. John, flip the switch"

John glared at Sherlock. "Oh yeah, of course I can flip the switch with my arms being free and that, they're defiantly not tied to a chair or anything".

"Is he always this cranky?" Moriarty almost laughed.

" Shut it you." John glared once more

"Coming from the man tied to a chair"

"Oh don't underestimate me, son."

"What are you going to do? Go all Houdini on us? Let me guess, you learnt that in the army too."

"You wait"

"For what? Christmas? I have plans you know, I don't traipse around following people everywhere they go like a love sick puppy"

"You what! God, you're gunna wish I was tied to this chair once I get my bloody hands on you!" John shouted.

"SILENCE!" Sherlock shouted, John and Moriaty looking around in shock. "Thank you, you can have your little childish spat later".

"He's only jealous he's not that one giving sarcastic remarks, aren't you Sherly-baby?" Moriarty teased. John laughed.

"You lack imagination. John, stop laughing, you'll hurt your ribs"

"What he meant to say is, your laughing will hurt your ribs, what's the matter Sherly? Your brain malfunctioning under pressure? How sad. I tell you what is sad, your affection towards Johnny-boy here, its touching, but useless."

"Back to the subject at hand, I've got a gun."

"Okay…am I supposed to be scared? You didn't need to state the obvious, of course your armed, it would be stupid not to considering your going into unknown territory with someone who has explosives and your…friend. I'm surprised you didn't bring more"

Sherlock raised his gun and aimed it at Moriarty's head. He smiled before looking down at John and asking if he was okay.

"Apart from the splitting headache, the pain in my ribs, the gun to my forehead and the bomb strapped to my chest, just great!" John moaned.

"Sounds like I'll be doing him a favour if I shoot him, put his out of all this pain and trauma" Moriarty pushed the gun closer to John's head in effect.

"Thanks for the offer but I'd rather not be blown to pieces if it's all the same" John retorted.

"What you also haven't considered is if I was to shoot you first" Sherlock thought aloud.

"Pfft! Don't make me laugh, John would be dead before the gun had a chance to dispense the bullet."

"I'm quick"

"And I'm quicker"

"You mind having your little pissing contest when there's not a chance of impending death?" John groaned, he's back was killing him, along with everything else.

"I dread to think what he's like at home, he must drive you insane Sherlock, why on earth do you put up with him"

"I am here you know!" John made his presence know, he tried to wriggle out of the chair when Moriaty looked down on him with a disgusted glance and held the chair sturdy with his unoccupied hand.

"Put the gun down Jim, last chance" Sherlock stood his ground.

"How about you put yours down?"

"Okay." Sherlock agreed, turning to nod at John who had got his hands free of the rope after years of being tied up and tortured in the army. Sherlock knew this. Of course he did. He made a move as if to place his gun to the ground nice and slowly, distracting, and when Moriarty smiled he turned, shot him in the lung. This caused Moriarty to shoot his gun which he thought was aimed at John's head. He fired but John was no longer there, whilst Sherlock was attracting attention, John had slipped out of the chair and to the window, signalling for Lestrade's team to come in.

Moriaty was on the floor, Sherlock stood on his hand and grabbed the gun. Holding both guns towards him as he backed towards John. "Are you okay?" He asked, turning to quickly look John up and down, their eyes locked. When he looked back Moriarty was gone. All that was left was a word written in blood. His blood. 'FALL'.

Sherlock couldn't care less about the message, he's think it up later. He looked around and there was no sign or the psychopath, and Lestrade's team were pounding their way up the stairs. He called them before entering the building, he knew he'd need an back-up plan. He sighed, put the guns in his coat pocket and hugged John, it was unexpected but nice, they both needed this.

"Don't ever do this to me again John." Sherlock commanded.

"Me!? How was this my fault, he was your enemy and after you!" John explained, voice going up an octave or two.

"It just is" Sherlock laughed.

"Of course it's my fault, I tied myself to a chair and strapped a bomb to myself to get your attention, I wasn't getting it any other wa-"John joked before he was interrupted by Sherlock's mouth pressing towards his. He stilled at first, but then softly kissed back and pulled away.

"Not that I'm complaining about your sudden display of affection, but we seem to be forgetting that I have a far few explosives around me"

"Lucky explosives"

"Sherlock!" John squealed in a very un-manly manner. He wasn't serious though, he still smiled. He wouldn't laugh because if he did he wouldn't be able to stop, this wasn't how Sherlock acted, it was weird.

"Yes, John" he replied, staring into his eyes, backing him into a corner. He knew about the bomb, but he had the trigger, he was in control. "I can't do anything without risking blowing you up, I'm waiting for the bomb squad to get here to relive you of this tight spot" he smirked. Sherlock was using innuendo. Jesus.

"O-okay" John stuttered, Sherlock was so close; they both were high with adrenaline. John could almost taste Sherlock, he could feel his breath on his face, his eyes. God. His eyes were somewhere he could get lost in. He leaned forward a little, looking up at Sherlock and then back down to his lips, checking. For what he didn't know. He urged closer, Sherlock was smirking now, and god if he didn't do that well. It had his stomach doing somersaults. He could feel his heart beating fiercely in his chest, he was sure Sherlock could hear it to. He swallowed.

"John, stop thinking and kiss me" Sherlock sighed

"You… stop thinking" John said in the sound of an awkward comeback, it sounded stupid, he knew it did.

"Me, stop thinking, the world would fall!" Sherlock joked.

"Here was me thinking you were modest, Mr. Ego"

"Maybe you should teach me a lesson" Sherlock's tone dripped with suggestion.

John blushed and cleared his throat. He swallowed twice before he spoke. "Oh god yes". They both laughed, then Sherlock leaned in and captured John's lips in a fierce kiss, pushing him fully up against the wall; mindful of the bomb. He really wished he could run his hands down John's chest, but he settled for his hand in his hair, claiming him for himself. "I'm glad you're okay, I'd be lost without my blogger" Sherlock muttered in between kisses, sucking on John's bottom lips when he'd got his point across. "Mmm" was all that John could say, it was hardly coherent and Sherlock smirked once again. How John loved that smirk. He kissed him back, deepening, trying to convey meaning, all the lost words he was too blissed to say, Sherlock was gasping and kissing back with twice as hard.

"Sherlock! John! You okay? Bomb squad are outside now, do you w-" Lestrade called before stopping when he saw the two men entangled and lip locked. He cleared his throat, they still didn't stop. "Oi!" He began, still nothing. "Look, the quicker we get that bomb off, the quicker you two can go home, we don't know if this bloke has another trigger somewhere, or a sniper. We've scanned the area and nothing yet. Oh, can you two stop for a second and listen!" Greg shouted, voice raising towards the end.

Both Sherlock and John parted. Panting heavily and lips swollen from kissing. They looked at one another and then back at Greg. Unconsciously standing very close together, like they were magnets being compelled.

"Thank you" Lestrade sighed.

A member of the bomb squad made his way in, establishing the type of bomb and how many packages of explosive material there were before approaching. He took John to a corner, Sherlock followed. The bomb expert told John to stay calm, he saw the heat sensors and decided he had to disarm the bomb and sensors before it could be removed. It was simple enough, this wasn't your average complex explosive jacket, they were pretty unpretentious to a someone who had seen more explosives than hot dinners. He had the wire cut in no time, both John and Sherlock holding their breaths and hands together when it was cut. John couldn't get the jacket off quick enough. Sherlock couldn't get his hands on John's newly exposed chest fast enough.

"And they're off" Greg grumbled, thanking the bomb unit as they left. He was going to shout a goodbye but knew they wouldn't hear him or even care. "I'll question 'em tomorrow, won't get much out of 'em now" he said to himself when walking out the door.

Oblivious John and Sherlock were over each other like the other was their only source of oxygen. John pulled back breathlessly. "Flat?".

"Flat" Sherlock agreed.

_THE END!_

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